


Familiarity

by dlm



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, why am i so predictable and boring :////
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlm/pseuds/dlm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“and I want you, we can bring it on the floor—never danced like this before. (we don’t talk about it.)”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> the one where they’re in uni and Drunken Shenanigans Happen.  
> disjointed fragments about drinking and finn's Feelings and rey laughing at finn.
> 
>  
> 
> idk this one is a mess but i just wanted an excuse to write stormpilot

The thing is, Finn knows he’s in too deep when Poe asks, “what do you mean, you’ve never had any alcohol?”

Finn shrugs. “I dunno. Never saw the appeal. I’d rather function like a normal human being at any given moment of the day.”

“Sure,” Poe says, clearly disbelieving, and Finn pulls a face.

“I’m sorry, not all of us can be ‘down in the club’ all the time.”

“Please don’t ever say ‘down in the club’ ever again,” Poe wheezes. “Besides, that’s not true. You’re making me sound like some sort of alcoholic or something. And aren’t first years supposed to be the ones who hang their livers up to dry?”

Finn grimaces at the image. “I’m sorry I take my degree seriously,” he says, sniffing. “Also, I’m not a first year, fuck you.”

“You’re full of shit, Finn.” Poe says anyway, because Poe’s an ass.

Before Finn can muster a weak reply of sorts, he’s interrupted by Rey barging into his already-cramped room. “I have three coffees and two Red Bulls,” she declares, as she sets down her laptop on Finn’s desk with a thud that makes Finn slightly worried. 

“That ain’t cheap,” Finn warns Rey, who in return, looks at him scathingly. He puts his hands up in the air. “Just trying to help.”

She laughs at him in return, which, fine, okay. Poe just looks at the both of them amusedly.

“Don’t you have important doctorate things to do?” Rey says, taking note of the fact that Poe had crashed in Finn’s room without his ever-present orange/grey backpack.

Poe shrugs. “I’d like to go one day without thinking about the stratosphere and the earth in general.”

“That’s profound,” she says drily. She turns to face Finn. “Have you started that essay on Kant yet? You know,” she says, when Finn gives her a questioning look. “The one that you were complaining about over WhatsApp.”

“Kant is a cunt,” Poe says helpfully, while waggling his eyebrows.

“Hilarious.”

“Follow for more teen quotes.”

“How are you older than the both of us, again?” Rey asks.

“Beats me,” Poe says, brightly. 

 

* * *

 

The second time Poe brings up the fact that Finn’s never had a drink, he’s drunk and knocking loudly on Finn’s room. 

At 3 in the morning.

“There’s something to be said about the irony here,” Finn says, to no one, as he helps Poe enter his room.

“Huh?” Poe says.

Finn ignores him and sets Poe down on his bed. Poe slumps over hilariously; prompting Finn to take out his phone to send a photo to Rey.

“No cameras,” Poe says, with a hand over his head. He waves it about weakly.

“You’re no fun,” Finn replies, as he reluctantly shoves his phone back into his pocket, and then, “why are you even here?”

Poe smiles. “My place was too far. And it doesn’t have you in it.”

“That’s cute,” Finn says, and immediately resists the urge to smack his head against the wall. Luckily, Poe has moved on to groaning loudly and making grabby hands at the thin air.

“What do you want.”

Poe somehow smiles even wider. Finn’s cheeks already hurt just by looking at him. “I want your hot love and emotion. Endlessly.”

It’s Finn’s turn to groan this time. “Jesus. I’ll get you a glass of water.” He gets up and takes an empty mug that doesn’t look all _that_ dirty off from his shelf and fills it with water.

“You’re the best. Around.” Poe croons.

“Do not even think about finishing that stupid song,” Finn threatens, as he hands over the mug to Poe, who takes it gratefully.

“I am grateful,” Poe says.

“This is why I don’t drink.”

“You’re missing out,” Poe says, very seriously, and proceeds to spill half of the water from the mug onto his shirt. He frowns at his shirt as if it’s personally offended him.

“I sure am,” Finn agrees. “I have a class at 9 am tomorrow. No, wait, today. Why are you doing this to me,” he tells Poe, who is busy mourning over his wet shirt.

“My shirt is wet.”

“I know,” Finn huffs. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Can I borrow your shirt?”

Again, Finn resists the urge to dramatically injure himself in some way at the thought of _Poe borrowing his shirt_.

“No,” Finn finally says, after realising that he’s gone silent for far too long. By then, Poe’s gotten off the bed and is now instead rummaging through his drawers with a tenacity that Finn’s impressed by, given Poe’s current state of sobriety (or lack thereof).

Something falls over, because of course something has to. The walls are paper thin, and Finn winces at the thought of his angry roommates trying to sleep; only having to listen to this drunken mess turn his room upside down instead. Sure enough, someone bangs against the wall and yells; a clearly polite invitation for Finn and co to shut up.

Finn is torn between yelling ‘sorry’ and keeping quiet. He chooses the latter because the room on his other side is probably still asleep and if he yells he’ll then awake that room in turn and—

“I’m taking this shirt,” Poe says, holding up a ratty grey t-shirt and holding it up against his body.

“No,” Finn says.

Poe doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, choosing instead to practically tear his own shirt off in favour of Finn’s.

Finn looks away.

“I am sleeping here tonight,” Poe says.

“No,” Finn says.

(They wake up the next morning with their limbs tangled and Poe’s face smushed into the crook of Finn’s neck with a possessive arm wrapped around Finn’s lower body. Finn quietly detangles himself from the mess and has a very cold shower afterwards.) 

 

* * *

 

The third time Finn is reminded that he’s Never Had A Drop Of Alcohol, Ever, In His Entire Life, Please Stop Asking, Thank You, is when Rey barges in into his room with her usual charm and grace. Meaning none, really.

“I am _very_ charming,” Rey protests, handing over a carton of fried rice to Finn while opening a can of lager with her other hand. “Drink?” She offers.

“I’ll stick to my water, thanks.”

“You know,” Rey says, between mouthfuls of rice, as they dig into their meals with typical student savagery, “a drop of alcohol won’t kill you.”

Finn’s feeling kind of cranky that day, so instead of formulating an actual response like a human being, he grunts instead.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Rey says earnestly. “It’s just—“ she starts, and then pauses to take a sip of her drink. “It’s one thing when you’ve tried the taste of alcohol and disliked it, but it’s another when you’ve just…”

“Never tried it?” Finn finishes helpfully.

“Exactly,” she says, while holding up her spoon.

“I dunno,” Finn says, not entirely convinced.

“You will now,” Rey declares, pouring him a drink, and that is how he drunk dials Poe that very night.

“I just think he’s _beautiful_ , you know,” he tells Rey very seriously. Rey is trying very hard not to laugh at him. “He’s like,” he continues, sloshing his can about, “ _gorgeous_. And I’m straight, and I can _see_ that he’s _gorgeous_.” He waves his hands—albeit wobbily—for emphasis.

“ _Straight_ ,” Rey hums meaningfully.

Finn nods. “Very. But if like—“

“If you were a girl?”

Finn ignores her sarcastic tone. Is she even being sarcastic right now? Who knows? The room is spinning. “If I were a girl,” he plods on, “I would totally like, go for it.”

“ _It_ being Poe’s dick.”

Finn makes a face before relaxing and saying, “huh, maybe. Do you think he has a big dick?”

Rey splutters. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

Finn shrugs, and then brightens up. “We should, like, _call_ him. He should be here with us. I want to touch his hair. Did you know his hair,” and here he pauses to burp, “is a seventh wonder of the world?”

“There are only seven wonders of the world,” Rey says, long-suffering.

“Fuck. I thought there were eight all along. Let’s ask Poe.” He picks up his phone and calls him; putting Poe on speaker. “Hello? Poe Dameron! My man! My one and only!”

“Stop that,” Rey says, taking the phone away from Finn. “He’s had too much too drink.”

Poe’s amusement bleeds through the phone speakers. “ _Did_ he now?”

“Shut up, Dameron.”

“I have a question,” Finn yells unnecessarily from the background. “How many wonders of the world are there?”

“Oh my god,” Rey mutters, while Poe—bless him—manages a real response. “Seven, I think? Is this some sort of trick question?”

Finn howls. “I’m writing, to, like, Obama. This needs to be rectified. Immediately.” He only gets the pronunciation of ‘rectified’ correct after the fifth attempt.

“And why is that?” Poe asks.

“Don’t humour him,” Rey groans.

“You’re beautiful,” Finn says. “Duh.”

There’s a long pause over the phone while Rey convulses into silent laughter.

“I’m hanging up. I have work to do,” Poe finally says, and he does.

Finn just looks at his phone like it’s on fire. “He left me.”

“I’m sending you two to a relationship therapist of sorts,” Rey says, unhelpfully. 

 

* * *

 

The thing is, Poe can’t let go of the fact that Finn’s All Grown Up Now, Sort Of, except, well, he’s definitely avoiding the fact that Finn had drunk-dialed him.

Not like that’s stopping Rey from going on and on and on about it every five seconds.

“Please drop it,” he grumbles, holding his pile of books up to his face to shield himself from Rey’s laughter. Thankfully, they’re in the library, so someone shushes the both of them, which is fine by Finn’s standards, seeing as Rey has to Finally Shut Up as well.

“I’ll drop it after you drop your gigantic crush on Poe,” she chirps.

Finn holds his head in his hands and tries not to groan too loudly. “First of all, that doesn’t even make sense,” he starts off loudly, before getting shushed again. “Second of all,” he hisses, “I do not have a ‘gigantic crush on Poe’. What is this, fifth grade?”

Rey sticks her tongue out at him, because she is clearly showing her true extent of maturity. “You so do.”

“I do not,” he grits out, because two can clearly play at this game.

“Someone has a certain affinity for a certain man in a certain leather jacket,” she whispers back, already near laughter.

“He told me to keep the jacket,” he says, jabbing the table. “So _hah._ I can’t possibly be in love with myself.”

“Oh my god, he gave you his jacket. I think I’m going to be a bit sick.”

Fuck. “It’s not like that,” Finn says, only it ends up coming out more like a whine than anything. They are also definitely getting more annoyed looks from other students at this point. Someone’s probably already updated YikYak with a nasty status about the two of them, or something.

“Whatever you say, you absolute heterosexual piece of meat, you.”

“Please don’t ever say that ever again.”

They fall back into silence, and Finn’s busy highlighting some supposedly important passage in his notes when his phone buzzes. It’s a text from Rey. He looks at her suspiciously, and she pretends not to take notice of him as she frantically scribbles out equations of some sort instead.

                        _he likes you too you know._

_god how are men so blind. this whole thing is so immature._

He puts his phone away and rolls his eyes; trying not to smile all the same.

 

* * *

 

Finn is convinced that Rey is the source of all evil.

“We’re going out,” she says, stepping into Finn’s room, dressed in a sequined emerald green dress with eyeliner sharp enough to kill.

He looks down at his own outfit—a Detroit Red Wings hoodie and black basketball shorts—and tries not to wince. “Where exactly?”

Rey gives him a Look. “Temple.”

Finn’s eyes widen. “Look, just because I drunk that _one time_ does not mean that you can drag me halfway across the city to go clubbing.”

Rolling her eyes, she replies, “it absolutely does, you saddo. Stop pretending as if a philosophy degree requires that much time and effort.”

“All you STEM assholes are the same,” he grumbles, but he grudgingly pulls on a pair of socks that’s been lying near his bed for a while now—he swears they’re clean—and asks Rey to open his wardrobe for him. “Choose my outfit, while you’re at it.”

“I knew I could count on you,” she says, and throws his black jeans at him.

They hit his face. “Ow.”

“Stop whining.” 

“Is Poe going?” He says, after she’s dramatically looked away in order to give him some semblance of privacy while he struggles with putting his jeans on. 

Rey just grins at him, shark-like, and Finn groans. “Don’t give me that." 

“Give you what?” She says, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“You’re the worst,” he says, after he’s finally dressed; the both of them heading out of Finn’s halls with apprehension of the night.

 

* * *

 

Poe greets them with his typical lazy smile and warm eyes, and he pats Finn’s arm and says, “great to see you, buddy,” and Finn wants the world to swallow him whole. 

He settles for quickly getting a drink and downing it all in one go, before immediately regretting his life decisions. “I’m never drinking again,” he says, gagging. Poe just laughs at him, because his entire life and existence is a joke.

“Never thought I’d actually see you out here,” Poe says, as if they’re both in on a secret; and he has to lean in and say things directly into Finn’s ear because of the thundering music and Finn feels himself float into the clouds at Poe’s warm breath against his neck.

“Well, here I am,” he says, gesturing stupidly, and he wants his voice to sound steady, but it sounds too rough in his ears. The light-headed feeling that he’s getting isn’t helping, either.

“Here you are,” Poe grins, and—he bites his lip and rubs Finn’s arm again like he’s _good_ , like he _belongs_ in a place with sweaty walls and peeling plaster—none of which matters when Poe is looking at him like that.

 

* * *

 

Finn hears the soft beginnings of a beat, and the bassline swells, along with something within him. “ _I want you by my side,_ ” the singer softly says.

Poe starts hollering. “They listened to my song request!” He says, eyes bright, and he grabs Finn by the wrist and starts dancing.

Finn laughs, a flush spreading across his cheeks. He ignores it, along with the clenching feeling in his stomach. “This song feels like sex,” he jokes, throwing caution to the wind. His cheeks burn.

Poe grins at him filthily. “Exactly why I chose it,” he says into Finn’s ear, and Finn tries not to shiver at the brush of Poe’s lips over the shell of his ear. There’s something warm on his hip and—

It’s Poe’s hand, and Finn doesn’t know if he realises, but Poe’s rubbing maddening circles into the jut of his hip. 

Finn's pupils dilate, and he is so, so _fucked._  

Poe’s—Poe seems to lean into him, and their bodies are warm together; impossibly close. Poe Dameron is a furnace, and Finn feels trapped by his heat and by the press of their bodies.

The club is packed, and somebody nudges into him. He falls forward into Poe, and Poe continues to laugh infuriatingly close into his ear. 

“You’re drunk,” Poe says, delighted. Finn reddens, and this time, Poe notices.

“Look, you’re pink,” he continues, touching the shell of Finn’s ear. 

“ _I want you, we can bring it on the floor_.” The singer sings, sly. What a coincidence, Finn thinks.

Poe sways into him, a parody of a slow-dance, and Finn can’t help but snort. “I’m not the only drunk one here.” Poe smiles, all teeth, and his eyes darken, and, _oh._ Finn is most definitely not sporting a semi on the fucking dance floor like some fucking horny teenager.

Except, well. Finn is sporting a semi on the dance floor. And he’s seriously, seriously fucked. He can’t imagine the consequences of Poe invading any more of his personal space, and of course, that’s when somebody bumps into the both of them.

Well. Somebody bumps into Poe this time round, causing their bodies to press against each other for one sweet moment.

Jesus.

And then Poe’s eyes widen, and, oh fuck. He’s fucked. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> fic inspired (stolen) from...stolen dance lol. sort of.  
> wrote the scene at the end first and i just pretended to have some semblance of plot.  
> if it doesn't make sense that's probably why. idk. i don't rly like this but. i'm still uploading this. help. wow the notes r prob longer than the actual fic i h8 myself
> 
> hmu @ [twitter!!! ](http://twitter.com/kvryakin)


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